


You're The One That Makes Me Happy

by hester_m



Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-20
Updated: 2012-07-20
Packaged: 2017-11-10 09:10:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/464613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hester_m/pseuds/hester_m
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s alright, brother.”</p>
<p>Those are the first words Thor says to him when he finds him. </p>
<p>“It’s alright, brother. I’ll take care of you.”</p>
<p>(Thor/Loki, Modern Day AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're The One That Makes Me Happy

 

_Loki_

“It’s alright, brother.”

Those are the first words Thor says to him when he finds him.

“It’s alright, brother. I’ll take care of you.”

Loki tilts his head back against the brick wall and sneers up at him. His hair falls across his face in a dark, greasy veil and he blinks against the strands tickling his eyelashes. He opens his mouth to say something, but his tongue is heavy and unresponsive, thick and useless, so he coughs instead before promptly tipping to the side and vomiting, violently.

When he draws back, Thor is still standing next to him, his expression one of overwhelming pity. As if Loki were an abandoned kitten, starving, lying in his own piss. _Well_ , he thinks bitterly, _I haven’t pissed myself, yet._

He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, swiping away the traces of vomit clinging to his skin then lets his head fall back. In his inebriated state he leans back too fast, too hard, and his skull strikes the wall with a sickening _crack_. Loki supposes it must be rather painful, judging from the sound it had made, but right now he can’t feel anything.

Sliding his gaze to the right he notices Thor is now crouched beside him, worry written in the creases on his forehead.

“Loki,” he murmurs sadly, eyes sweeping over Loki’s face, taking in the watery, bloodshot eyes, the raw-bitten lips.

Loki waits for his brother to finish his thought, but Thor doesn’t speak again. Not for a long few minutes. Silently, he brushes Loki’s hair out of his face, tucks it behind his ears. He hooks one thick-muscled arm under Loki’s bent legs, slides the other around his shoulders to grasp him under the armpit, and when Loki starts to struggle and squirm, he tightens his grip, just enough, and lifts his brother from the stained pavement.

“Thor,” Loki moans, weakly shaking his head. The movement causes his vision to blur and his head to spin, and he fears he might throw up again.

“Thor,” he croaks again.

“Hush, brother,” Thor says, his voice low with sympathy, “I’m taking you home.”

Loki doesn’t understand – _Where?_ – but he’s hardly in a state to put up a fight, and so, he lets himself be carried off into the night, thankful for the darkness he finds as he buries his face in the crook of Thor’s neck.

He doesn’t know how long Thor walks, how long it takes them to reach wherever it is Thor is taking him, but when Thor’s jolting steps finally come to a halt, the Sun is just beginning to peek over the tops of the high city towers. Loki is too busy shielding his eyes from the piercing light that’s starting to spill onto the streets to pay much attention to his new surroundings.

He feels Thor shift his weight, balancing Loki in a single strong arm as he fumbles in his jeans pocket for the key to the front door. A moment later the door clangs open; Loki cringes and Thor whispers a swift apology into his hair, tries to kick the door closed with as little noise as possible.

Loki shut his eyes and doesn’t open them again until he hears Thor’s voice.

“Loki? I’m going to put you down, okay?” He feels himself being lowered onto something soft and opens his eyes to see a bed beneath him. The covers are in a messy pile at the foot of the bed, as if someone had kicked them there after waking.

Thor gently places his head onto a pillow, draws the covers up over his slightly trembling form. He sits on the edge of the bed, just watching.

Loki lets himself sink into the mattress. Everything is warm and soft and _safe_. His eyelids feel heavy and he doesn’t try to prevent himself falling asleep.

He awakens to the feeling of intense coldness. Shivers wrack through his body, his teeth chattering as his eyes start to water. His mouth opens but his throat is too dry, and the only sound he makes comes out a feeble, rasping moan.

A figure appears in the doorway. _Thor_ , he thinks desperately, _Thor, I’m cold, Thor._ Thor is at his side in a second, as if he could hear Loki’s mental pleading, and he places a palm against Loki’s forehead, testing his temperature. _I’m cold, you fool,_ Loki thinks.

Thor shushes him, disappears for a moment then returns with a thick, wool blanket, which he drapes atop the sheets already covering Loki’s body. He wipes cold beads of sweat off Loki’s forehead with a damp flannel he must’ve brought in with the blanket, then sits and waits for Loki to fall back asleep.

When Loki next opens his eyes the sky is dark again. There are no lights on in the bedroom, but the door is half-ajar and light from the hallway pours in through the gap, spilling onto the wooden floor.

Loki twists beneath the blankets, suddenly too warm. He kicks them off and hears them fall with a soft _thump_ into a heap on the floor. He still feels too hot, his skin seeming to prickle with heat as he shifts restlessly, trying to find a cool spot on the pillow. He flings an arm out in despair and accidentally knocks something off the bedside table. It lands with a _crack_ and Loki hears the little pieces of plastic bouncing off the floorboards.

“Loki?”

Thor’s head appears around the edge of the door. He spots the broken object – an alarm clock, Loki realises belatedly – on the floor then hurries over to Loki’s side.

Placing a warm palm on Loki’s forehead he says, “You feel warm, brother. Are you hot?”

Loki nods.

“Too hot.” He replies, still twisting and turning on the bed.

“I’ll open a window,” says Thor, getting up to slide open one of the bedroom windows, allowing the cool night breeze to waft into the room.

Loki sighs audibly as the air floats over him, caressing his fevered flesh and calming his restless limbs. Thor has returned to his side. He smiles softly.

“Sleep, brother,” he murmurs just as softly.

Loki closes his eyes, suddenly overcome with exhaustion. _I’ve never slept this much in my life_ , he thinks fleetingly, before sinking back into a dreamless sleep.

 

This time, when Loki wakes, it is afternoon and the Sun sits high in the sky. He sits up and looks about him. In the corner of the room he sees Thor, half-dozing in a tatty armchair, his head bowed against his chest.

At that moment, Thor’s head snaps up and he blinks groggily at Loki a few times, before his eyes clear and he rises from the chair to come to Loki’s side. Loki finds this strange sixth-sense Thor seems to have for knowing when Loki is awake a little unsettling.

Loki doesn’t move, just stares up at Thor as Thor looks down at him.

“You’re awake,” he states, “You look – better.”

When Loki doesn’t reply Thor simply nods as if Loki had.

“Do you want a drink? I think you should drink something.” Thor says, already moving towards the hallway. “I’ll get you some water.”

Loki listens to the sound of a tap turning and water gushing. Thor returns a minute later with a tall glass of water. He hands it over to him and stays hovering by the bedside, watching Loki take a few hesitant sips – he isn’t sure how much his stomach can handle at the moment.

Loki extends his arm and Thor takes the glass from him, murmuring “ _Good, good_ ,” patronisingly, under his breath, as he places the glass on the end-table.

“Is there anything you want?” Thor asks.

Loki shakes his head no, then, pauses.

“I need the bathroom,” he says bluntly.

Thor blinks then nods.

“Oh, the bathroom’s just next door,” he says.

Loki swings his legs over the edge of the mattress and drags himself up to stand. His body aches, _everywhere_ , and the back of his head is throbbing painfully. Thor extends an arm, offering support, but Loki rejects it, bristling with the assumption that he can’t even take a piss without Thor’s assistance. Undeterred, Thor follows closely behind him as he makes his way slowly to the bathroom.

Once inside, he turns and locks the door, defiantly.

He looks around him.

The bathroom is tiny. The walls are tiled, but the floor is covered in off-white linoleum, which Loki detests. There is no bath, only a white toilet, a small basin, and an even smaller shower, crammed into the corner, a grubby-looking shower curtain hanging on a plastic rail.

Loki grimaces in distaste. After he has relieved himself, he hobbles over to the basin and examines his reflection in the mirror on the wall above. His face stares back at him, pale and sickly. His eyes look dull and lifeless, his lips are chapped and his hair sticks out at odd angles, the stickiness that had been there before, now hardened into solid clumps of matted raven locks. Loki grimaces again and rinses his face with warm water from the tap.

When he unlocks and opens the bathroom door Thor is there, waiting, leaning against the wall.

Loki’s shoulder brushes against Thor’s arm as he makes the five-step journey back to the bedroom, Thor trailing behind him like a lost pup. He climbs back into bed, drawing the covers up over his legs and torso as he settles himself upright against the headboard.

Thor drags the old armchair closer to the bed then slowly lowers himself into it.

“Do you – “ he hesitates, “do you need anything else?”

Loki ignores him and counters with his own question.

“How did you know where to find me?”

Thor’s concerned expression crumples momentarily, before his lips curve, ever so slightly, into a grim smile.

“Father told me,” he says, watching Loki carefully for his reaction.

_How does he know,_ Loki wonders exasperatedly, _how does he_ always _know?_ It’s been nearly four months since he’d last seen any of his family and yet, still, the old man knew exactly where to find him.

“I see,” he says. “And how is Odin?”

“Father is – he’s doing okay,” Thor replies, offering Loki a half-hearted smile. Loki doesn’t return it.

“How long have I slept?”

“Two days. It’s Sunday, today.”

A few minutes pass in heavy silence until Thor, apparently unable to withstand the quiet any longer, pushes himself up from his seat.

“I’ll let you rest. Call me if you need anything,” he says, and though it sounds like a question, Loki only stares blankly at him as Thor nods and walks to the door.

When Thor finally leaves and Loki is left alone in the small bedroom, he thinks back to two nights ago. He remembers, with no small amount of chagrin, clinging to Thor’s chest, moaning pathetically for Thor to come to his rescue.

He brushes the thoughts aside, deciding to forget his embarrassing behaviour. After all, he was drunk, extremely so, and therefore, could hardly be blamed for the way he had acted.

With nothing else to do – Thor hasn’t left him anything to read, and the room lacks a bookcase or any other form of entertainment – Loki lets himself doze off a little. He doesn’t feel up to walking about just yet; everything seems to be hurting, like an intense full-body hangover.

Thor comes back a few hours later, bringing with him a plastic tray on which rests a small bowl of some watery, vegetable-based soup, and another glass of water, chilled this time. He sets the tray carefully onto the bedside table, nudging the lamp over slightly to make room.

“I thought you might be hungry,” Thor says.

Loki takes the tray and places it in his lap. He starts to eat the soup, only taking a few delicate spoonfuls at a time, before pausing to let his stomach settle. It seems to be staying down alright, so he continues eating. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Thor return to his armchair.

Thor waits until he’s finished the entire bowl of soup before speaking.

“Loki – “ he starts, but on hearing his grave tone, Loki quickly interrupts. He has no desire to repeat the same conversation, the same argument, again with Thor.

“Don’t Thor.”

Thor looks up at him, something like desperation in his crystal blue eyes. Loki thinks the look almost suits him.

“Brother, please – “

“ _Don’t_ Thor.”

Thor leans back resignedly, shoulders slumping with defeat, sad eyes still locked on Loki’s.

“Okay,” he murmurs, then, louder, “I have to go back to work tomorrow. Will you be alright here on your own? I could ask – “

“I’ll be fine,” Loki says shortly.

“Okay. Alright.”

Thor sighs quietly, stands up and leaves Loki alone once more.

 

The next morning, Loki listens to the sounds of Thor getting ready for work. He hears the shower through the thin connecting wall between the two rooms, listens to the sound of a kettle boiling and a microwave humming. All in all, Loki estimates it takes Thor about twenty minutes to leave the house.

The instant the door closes behind him, Loki forces himself out of bed. He has to spend a few minutes stretching his stiff legs before he can walk without limping; being restricted to a bed for three day hasn’t done his muscles any favours.

When his muscles feel a little more flexible, he moves out of the bedroom, into the narrow hallway. So far, he’s only seen two rooms of Thor’s apartment (for that’s where he is, apparently) and so, he decides to explore the place while it is currently Thor-free. First, though, he needs to shower.

After a thorough scrubbing in the shower, Loki immediately feels much better, the hot water having further eased some of the tension from his aching muscles, washing away the grime and dirt that had covered his body. Without a change of clothes, Loki is forced to pull on the baggy tracksuit bottoms and over-sized t-shirt Thor had left out for him the previous night. Now washed and dressed, he walks out of the steamy bathroom and looks about the apartment.

He discovers Thor’s apartment is quite small – though not uncomfortably so. There are only three rooms; the bedroom he had awoken in, the bathroom next door, and the main room which seems to serve simultaneously as the living room, kitchen and dining area.

It appears Thor has taken on the decorating and furnishing of the place himself; Loki notes with amusement the mismatch sofas and armchairs, the shiny, expensive-looking T.V. and games console (complete with a rather large stack of video games piled up next to it on the floor), and tiny plastic dining table over in the corner.

Something Loki doesn’t expect, however, are the bookshelves lining the far wall, all nearly overflowing with books of every size and shape. Mildly curious, he examines a few of the shelves, tilting his head to the read the titles on the spines. Thor seems to have no particular preference when it comes to genre; there looks to be every sort of book out there stacked on these shelves.

Loki selects a book at random – a crime novel by an author he hasn’t encountered before – and sinks down into the slightly more comfortable-looking sofa of the two, and reads.

Around midday the click of the front door startles Loki from his reading, and he looks up to see Thor bustling into the apartment, two bulging supermarket bags in each hand. He doesn’t ask Loki for help. Loki doesn’t offer.

He watches silently from the sofa as Thor meticulously sorts and puts away the shopping. Loki notes the boxes of cookies and bags of colourful sweets, and feels an odd wave of nostalgia wash over him. Thor had always had a sweet-tooth, he remembers.

Just as Thor is removing the contents of the last plastic bag Loki speaks up from his place on the couch.

“How long do you plan to keep me cooped up here, Thor?”

Thor spins around on his heel to face him, eyes wide as he opens his mouth to reply.

“What?”

“How long are you planning on keeping me here?” Loki repeats, irritated, drawing the words out slowly as if talking to a small child.

“I’m not – you’re not a _prisoner_ , Loki. I just – I want – “

“What?”

“I just want – “

“What do you want, Thor?” Loki asks, very aware of his voice growing louder, the anger inside him starting to bubble over.

“I want you to come home, Loki,” Thor says, that desperate look back in his eyes. “Just _come home_ , brother.”

“Why do you insist on calling me that?” Loki shouts, rising from the sofa. “Why must you keep calling me that?”

Bewildered, Thor says, “What? Call you what?”

“’ _Brother’_ ,” Loki spits, as if the word tastes bitter on his tongue. “I’m not your brother, Thor. I’m not your brother.” His voice wavers and breaks on the last words.

And then, Loki starts to cry.

Fat, salty tears start to roll down his cheeks of their own accord, and Loki’s knees no longer want to support him. He drops to the floor, body folding in on itself hopelessly as he weeps uncontrollably into his hands.

Thor, of course, is knelt down beside him in an instant, wrapping a huge arm around Loki’s shaking frame and hugging him to his broad chest.

“Hush, Loki,” Thor whispers, rocking him gently in his arms, “Hush. You’ll always be my brother, Loki. Always.”

He continues to repeat this mantra, over and over, into Loki’s hair, holding him tightly until Loki’s sobs start to ebb, his body giving one final heave before relaxing completely. When Loki’s breathing has evened out to an almost normal pace, Thor says quietly, “Will you stay, Loki?”

Against every instinct Loki possesses, he nods weakly and replies, “Yes.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I was a little nervous posting this piece as I'm not really sure how I feel about it. It's unfinished and I'm kinda still debating whether to continue it. I'd really appreciate any constructive criticism, regarding my writing or the story content (characterisation in particular, because I'm always worried that I've not stuck to the original character enough).  
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you liked it. (:


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